


comforts like these

by mikkal



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Brotherhood: Final Fantasy XV, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 04:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikkal/pseuds/mikkal
Summary: Noctis is sick. Ignis takes care of him.





	comforts like these

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ivorydice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorydice/gifts).



> For the Noctis Gift Exchange! I got ivorydice, which nearly gave me a heartattack. 
> 
> This fills request 2: Fluffy sick day, where Noct has come down with a cold or the flu and Ignis looks after him/helps cheer him up.
> 
> Hopefully I got it right.

Ignis scoops up his briefcase and is two seconds away from opening the door when his phone chimes a fairly recognizable ringtone. He frowns, digs the offending item out, then stares at it for a moment in pure confusion. Noctis smiles back at him, his caller ID a selfie of him with one eye closed in an attempt at a cheeky smile and his free hand throw up with a victory sign. The angle of the picture is atrocious, part of his arm blurs the edge of the frame and his victory sign is the center focus with his face just too far to the left.

But Ignis doesn’t have the heart to delete it. Especially since Noctis stole his phone for the sole purpose of taking ridiculous selfies. He has about fifteen more photos with the same, er, lacking quality. Professional photographer is one career the Prince of Lucis cannot fulfill.

The odd thing, is that he’s calling. Noct never calls. He usually texts short bursts that sometimes has Ignis silencing the notification noise and he just lets it buzz away until Noct gets it out of his system.

Ignis can remember exactly one time Noctis called; a year ago while Ignis was in a class at university, the King had collapsed during a standard open court. Noct had been in attendance and even though the king was rushed to the Citadel infirmary not even minutes later with assurances he was going to be perfectly fine in a day or two, the prince had called Ignis in a panic.

With his heart in his throat, he swipes to answer. “Noct? Is everything alright?” He gets a groan in response. “Noct?”

“Iggy,” Noctis croaks out. “I’m dying. Tell Prom he can have my Assassin Creed games when I’m gone. Gladio’s not allow to touch anything in the armory, fuck him.”

Ignis sighs in relief, pressing his forehead against the wall, his shoulders losing the tension that made them climb to his ears. “Surely it’s not that bad?”

Noct groans again, longer and more drawn out. He can picture the prince sprawled out on his bed with an arm thrown petulantly over his eyes, pouting the way only a sixteen year old can. When he doesn’t get the response he wants, he groans again more pointedly.

“I take it Gladio’s feeling better?” Ignis asks, amused. He already knows Gladio’s feeling better, the man grappled him into a bear hug yesterday when he least expected it. He nearly had a heart attack. Noctis swears in a delightful combination of languages that has Ignis snorting. Of course he blames Gladio for getting him sick. “Did you cancel your appointments for today?”

After their...argument a few months ago that Gladio shamefully had to knock some sense into Ignis about a few things, Noct has taken on more responsibility when it comes to royal duties and everyday things. Ignis is both grateful to have some of the work taken off his hands, leaving him with more time to train and take his classes, and guilty that he couldn’t handle it all. He can’t but think that this bout of flu or cold, along with Noct’s other four cases of sickness in as many months, might be the result of an already taxed young man putting more of a burden on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Noct says, sounding tired and breathless. “I did.” His voice is off, nasal and congested. “Was suppose to see dad today,” he mutters off to the side. “He said we could reschedule, but we know what that means.” It means it could take months for father and son to see each other again not in a royal environment, and it’s been three months already. “I don’t—.” Coughing interrupts whatever he’s going to say next.

Ignis listens to him attempting to hack and heave a lung out. Noct sounds far away now, probably dropped his phone on his bed. He checks his watch, he’d been planning on stopping by to make sure Noct had enough groceries to make it through the weekend and go over a few notes before heading to his ridiculously long weekend class. But now he’s running ten minutes late. Stopping by Noct’s will take even longer with him sick, he’ll probably end up missing the first forty-five minutes of class anyway.

Besides, he thinks as he listens to Noctis curse between gasping breaths, does he really want to go to class with Noct feeling this ill and miserable? He knows Noct can take care of himself during these moments (most of the time, a few incidents sometimes putting that into doubt) despite everything, but… He just doesn’t have it in him.

He doubts he ever will.

Ignis is out the door and in his car by the time Noct has control over his breathing. “I’m coming over.”

“What? No,” Noctis snaps out immediately, surprisingly enough. “You have class today, right? That wasn’t the point of calling you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Then what was the point?” Noct remains silent. Ignis leans back in his seat, sighing. “Noct? What was the point if it wasn’t to get me to come over?”

“...I just...I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, the connection through the phone making Ignis strain to hear him. “And I wanted to, I dunno, hear your voice. ‘s nice.” He makes a half-strangled noise of despair. “Ugh, forget I said that. I’m just going sleep. Go to class, Iggy. I’ll be okay.”

“Noct—.” But it’s too late, Noctis hangs up.

Ignis scowls at at his phone before shoving it in his bag. Mentally, he reviews his to-do list for the weekend and makes note to email Yuffie about anything he’ll miss from class. He’ll contact his professor too, but generally, his position as an employee of the Citadel and part of the prince’s retinue gains him a bit of leniency most people aren’t offered. Yuffie actually complained about it once in the beginning, until she saw what the rest of his schedule looked like. His acquaintances then collectively decided he could have all the breaks he needed and would help out as often as they could.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve that kind of treatment, but he’ll guiltily accept it either way.

With that, he straps himself in and peels out of his designated spot. Noctis lives a mere twenty minutes away on good day, forty on a bad. Today it’s a good day, but it still takes him some extra time since he stops for supplies. In the end, it turns into a thirty minute trip. Soon he’s signing in at the frost desk and swiping his card for the elevator.

Ignis knocks on the door for manner’s sake, but when he receives no answer, he takes his card again to key it open. The apartment is dark save for some light filtering through the curtains pulled over the doors to the balcony and the light over the stove. He doesn’t bother flicking them on before sliding the bag of supplies on the counter.

He makes his way to Noct’s bedroom, casting eyes around at the relatively spotless living room as he goes. A far cry from what is had been just earlier this year. It seems Noct had been absolutely serious about his new responsibilities. He knew that to be true about the royal side, but the home life had been questionable. It seems he need not question it any longer. Except for a few dishes in the sink, a hoodie over the back of the couch, his game controllers in a heap in front of the television, and a slew of papers scattered on the dining room table, everything is in order.

Instead of sprawled out on the bed like he pictured, Noctis has curled himself into a blanket burrito, only his flushed face visible. His hair sticks to his cheeks, curling from sweat, and his breathing is labored and wheezy. He must’ve fallen asleep after he hung up. It doesn’t look like a good sort of sleep, though, he looks uncomfortable if the pinch of his brows means anything.

Ignis sighs as he perches on the edge of the mattress. Carefully, he pets the top of Noct’s head despite it being covered by the duvet. Noctis huffs under his breath at the touch, curling in tighter, then his eyes crack open just a sliver, them shining in the dim light cracking through his door.

”Ignis?” he rasps out, sounding oh-so-confused. “Wha-?” And then he’s rolling away, shooting up into a sitting position. “What are you doing here?” he exclaims. “You’re supposed to be in class!”

He doubles over to cough violently into his elbow. Ignis rubs his back in soothing circles, wincing in sympathy. They’re dry coughs, doing absolutely nothing for his lungs and just ripping his throat raw. Tea with honey is on the menu then, plus a decongestant.

Noctis gasps for breaths, whimpering. He bends in half, curling his arms around his middle in a mockery of a hug. “Ugh,” he finally finds voice to groan out. “I hate being sick.”

“Who doesn’t,” Ignis offers. He brushes the prince’s fringe from his forehead, pressing his hand against the warm skin there. Noctis sighs and leans into the touch. “You definitely have a fever,” he murmurs, tsking lightly. “Have you taken anything yet?”

He shakes his head, not pulling away. “You should be in class,” he insists. The attempt to sound stern is ruined by the cracking and croaking of his voice.

“My duty is first and foremost to you,” Ignis replies. He ignores the odd look Noctis gives him. “My studies can wait. We’re learning about the current politics anyways. I’m pretty sure I’m the most well versed in that subject matter in the entire class.” That earns a laugh out of Noctis, soft and barely there but a laugh nonetheless. “You’re my friend, Noct. I don’t think I could handle knowing you were sick and for some reason I didn’t do anything to help.”

Noct gives him a blinding smile, the type that makes his eyes go squinting into half-moons. It’s his rarest smile. Ignis has only seen it a handful of times since they were kids, it had been less rare before Noctis’ accident. It stokes the fire in Ignis’ chest, making him feel warm.

“Come on,” Ignis says, wrapping his arm around Noct’s shoulders. “Let’s get you in a lukewarm shower to bring that fever down.” Noctis whines. “Don’t give me that. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

It takes some coaxing, but he manages to get Noctis to shuffle into the bathroom. He turns the water to the perfect temperature, leaves a change of clothes behind, and leaves Noct to his privacy.

Ignis puts the kettle on for tea and strips the bed of its sweat soaked sheets. Noct is still in the shower when Ignis finishes making the bed with fresh sheets. He goes to the kitchenette just before the kettle starts whistling. He sets up a cup of chamomile tea with, letting it steep for the allotted time before pulling out the metal ball and adding what he thinks is a disgusting about of honey, but he knows Noctis likes it sweet.

He raps on the bathroom door, the water still running. “Noct,” he calls. “You alive in there?”

Noctis groans in response. Which, honestly, is probably not good for his throat. Still it’s better than his usual method of expressing his apathy and dislike, which is noncommittal grunting. There’s a strange heaving noise, followed by gagging. It sounds nothing like vomiting. It takes him a second, then it hits. He sighs, leaning against the door.

“I know coughing is the worst,” Ignis says. “But you’re doing it for a reason. Your body is trying to expel whatever it is that’s in your lungs. Don’t force yourself not to cough.”

As if on cue, Noctis starts coughing again. Ignis knuckles opens the door, steam billowing out. The hotter water won’t do well for his fever, but it should help shake loose the mucus in his lungs. Noctis sits under the spray, legs sprawled out and chest heaving. Ignis turns off the water and drapes a towel over him to give him modesty. He blinks up at him, gaze slightly unfocused.

“I feel like crap.”

“So I’ve been told.” Ignis drops another towel over his head, kneeling down to ruffle it through his hair. “You look like crap.”

Noctis snorts then winces when it aggravates his throat. “Ow. I feel the love, Iggy. Thanks.”

Ignis hums lightly under his breath. “I aim to please. Now, come on. Let’s get you up and clothed.”

He reaches up and takes the towel from Ignis’ hands, pressing it against his face. “I got it from here, Specs. You were right ‘bout the shower. As usual.”

Ignis does as whisked and climbs to his feet. “Your tea should be drinkable by the time you’re done. Try not to walk if you feel too shaky, please.”

He nods slightly, already struggling to his feet. His face pales while his cheeks flush pink, all together looking woozy. Ignis waits a bit, hands out in case he slips and cracks his head open, but Noct manages to migrate to sit on the closed toilet, breathing deeply and deliberately. Noctis raises in brows in a clear dismissal, the pink flush turning red in an actual blush.

Ignis sheds his vest as he leaves the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind him. It get hung on the coat hook just about hove his shoes, his belt goes in his briefcase. His sleeves get rolled up, the top few buttons of his shirt are undone, and the hem of said shirt is untucked. In the end, it leaves him looking totally undignified, but considering he has plans to go absolutely nowhere, it’ll be okay.

The door to the bathroom pops open and he hears Noctis shuffle back to bed, coughing and sniffling he goes. Ignis gathers his supplies—tea, a couple bottles of water, medications, and a book carefully selected from the bookcase in the corner—and follows him into the room. Noctis is back to swaddling himself in the duvet, looking wholly miserable. He glances up when Ignis walks in, horizon blue eyes glazed over with a fever.

He fights to free his hands when Ignis passes over the tea. He presses the rim of it just below his nose and breathes in as deep as he can, eyes fluttering closed. His breathing hitches, and he holds back another bout of coughing, gagging and retching. Ignis tsks, saving his tea from sloshing and pressing a hand between his shoulder blades as he sits on the edge again.

“Cough, Noct,” he urges.

Noctis does, losing control. Tears escape from his closed eyes, trickling down his cheeks. Forcing the coughs back made the ones he’s letting loose so much worse. He gasps when it’s over. Ignis offers him water first then tea. It’s still hot enough to soothe his throat. Noctis sags against him, sipping carefully at the tea.

Ignis throws an arm over his shoulders, pulling him close, and shoves a handful of various meds in front of his face. Noctis goes cross-eyed in an attempt to focus on them, scowling. Reluctantly, he takes them with a trembling hand and throws them back, washing them down with water before finishing off his tea.

“Ugh.”

Ignis rolls his eyes, smiling. At least he’s complaining. Yeah, Noct is probably unbelievably miserable, but a complaining Noctis means that he’s not that bad off. Now, if he’d been silent and whatnot, then Ignis would worry. Usually, that means something horrible.

“Move over,” Ignis says.

Noctis glances at him curiously but obliges, shuffling to the other side of the bed. Ignis stretches out next to him, propped up by the headboard with the book in hand. Noct very carefully curls against Ignis, resting his cheek on his chest and looking up at the older man through his dark fringe.

Ignis opens the book to the beginning. It’s a fantasy one, old and worn, more for children than adult men, but nonetheless still entertaining, about star-pirates and a planet covered in treasure. They loved it as kids, what with their obsession with the night sky and her stars, and the copy Noctis owns is their original, filled with small notes and little pictures from over the years. Noct’s gaze falls to the page and he smiles at the faded illustration that accompanies the first chapter.

“Well, you did say you thought my voice was nice,” Ignis says, delighted in the blush that comes back on Noct’s cheeks with a roaring vengeance. “And who am I to deny my friend when he feels so miserable?” He very carefully says ‘friend’ and not ‘prince,’ and earns a brighter smile for it.

Ah, that explains the odd look earlier.

Just as he’s about to start reading out loud, Noct mumbles a very quiet, “Thanks, Iggy. You’re the best, you know?”

Ignis feels his own blush heating his cheeks. “I do try,” he murmurs thickly. He clears his throat, settles a little more comfortably and starts to read—“‘On the clearest of nights, when the winds of the Etherium were calm and peaceful…”

 

 


End file.
